Dr. Creepen's Dungeon - S1 Ep47: Episode 47: Horror Stories from the Apocalypse

Episode Date: September 15, 2021

Tonight's show is proudly sponsored by Manscaped: get 20% Off and Free Shipping with the code CREEP at https://www.manscaped.com/ Tonight’s first story is ‘I've Been Trapped Alone in a Fallout Bunker for Months, Until Now’, an original work by CnRhin, kindly shared directly with me for the express purpose of having me exclusively narrate it here for you all. https://www.reddit.com/user/CnRhin …Introducing the phenomenal Mr. X Dreams! https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC1dRxsZYGElwy9-4ohmYjeg Today’s second terrifying tale of terror is the ‘There’s a chemical fog outside our school: We can’t leave’, an original work by Writing With Blood, kindly shared with me via NoSleep so that I could narrate it here for you all, with the author’s express permission. https://www.reddit.com/user/WritingWithBlood/ Our penultimate story is ‘White Room’, an original work by Alxzander-Ch, also kindly shared directly with me for the express purpose of having me exclusively narrate it here for you all. https://www.reddit.com/user/Alxzander-Ch Tonight’s final epic tale of the macabre is ‘I Used to Deliver Lost Luggage from the Airport: This Bag is Why I Quit’, an original story The Gigconomist, kindly shared with me for the express purpose of having me narrate it here for you all: https://www.reddit.com/user/TheGigconomist/

I find myself reliving old patterns and having heavy thoughts. I feel stuck. I struggle to feel secure and authentic. You don't have to stay stuck. Mental health professionals at the Center for Interpersonal Relationships are available to provide you with confidential, compassionate services customized to you to help you feel well, secure, and alive. Psychotherapy starts at $75 per session. Book an initial session online or in person in Toronto at 790 Bay Street.

Visit cfir.ca. Welcome to Dr. Creepin's dungeon. Well, it has famously been said that there's no terror in the bang, only in the anticipation of it, as we shall see in tonight's four stories. Now, later on, we will hear, there's a chemical fog outside our school. We can't leave by writing with blood. That's followed by White Room, by Alexander Che. And we round off proceedings tonight with our use.

used to deliver lost luggage from the airport. This bag is why I quit by the gig economist. But before that, we begin with I've been trapped alone in a fallout bunker for months, until now, featuring the marvellous vocal talents of Mr. Xtreams. Now, as ever before we begin, a word of caution. Tonight's stories may contain strong language, as well as descriptions of violence and horrific imagery. If that sounds like your kind of thing, then let's begin. I've been locked alone in here for over a year.

Until today, that is. I'm not locked in here against my will. Oh no, I lock myself in here. But where is here exactly? Here is a bunker that I had constructed over the past ten years. I started it back in 52 and finished it just before those downed. Comys put those missiles in Cuba. After that happened, I knew I had to save myself before something terrible happened.

So I grabbed all that I could and lot myself underground. I know that they launched those missiles because I haven't heard any sort of movement outside of here in months. Ever since then, I've been in here waiting and waiting until it's safe to return to the surface. My bunker sits 100 feet underground, only one way out, through a hatch in the top and through a long tunnel with only a ladder inside. And I've been alone this entire time. Until now, just last night, someone came knocking on the hatch. I ignored it at first. So I was hearing things because it's so far away.

but they haven't let up now for three days. Every morning he comes back and starts back up again. I've been listening to that wretched banging for three whole days. I wasn't going to open it because I knew that if I let someone else in, I wouldn't have enough supplies to go around for more than one, but I felt bad that someone might actually be alive out there and needs my help. I can't stand that noise anymore. Oh, it's been relentless.

He must have been yelling too, because sometimes it'll start for ten seconds or so, and then start all over again. Finally, where I couldn't last any longer, and I felt like my head was going to explode, I cracked. I made the ascent up to the hatch and listened closely. The man was yelling to let him,

in, in between the banging. I couldn't help but feel pity for the man. And some caution, because he might just have been out to take the things that I had worked so hard to achieve. Then I thought about how lonely I've been, how long I've gone without human contact, and, well, I couldn't resist it any longer. I gave in to temptation and yelled back at the man. I yelled to the man.

I was going to open the hatch and to move back, the turn, the wheel, and threw the heavy door open to see a man standing in the dirt next to the opening. His fist bloodied and broken from the constant banging. He wasn't a very physically imposing man, but not a small man to be sure. I eyed him with suspicion, but he looked so relieved that I'd open the door that I couldn't help but feel like I'd done something good. How do you survive out here so long? I inquired. Still eyeing the man. My body half in the ground, half out.

What do you mean? There's no danger out here. He responded, a little confused. What do you mean? Those missiles in Cuba are still there. What hasn't broken out yet? I asked, confused. Because if the bombs hadn't been dropped,

Why had the noise of traffic stopped months ago? Why had the radio signals been dead? Why was it always so quiet? Oh no, there is a war. But it doesn't involve the bombs. The Northeast has been evacuated and I came back to look for some things I left out here. He said, gesturing towards a group of cabins nearby. Hmm, I'm assuming you didn't have fired what you were looking for.

I said, looking at his empty hands. No, nobody was there. I was headed back when I found the plans to your little shelter in the basement of one of the cabins, and I came only to find it locked. Why do you want to get in? If there's no bombs, what's the point of coming down here? I asked, leaning closer. Can we talk about this inside?

I don't think it's safe out here. Okay, I'll get it down first so I can keep an eye on you, I said. Turn the wheel to close the hatch when you enter. The man entered and I descended the rungs of the ladder until I reached the very bottom, keeping my eyes on him the whole time. I opened the door when I reached the bottom and stepped into my shelter. The stranger was right behind me and he closed the door as he walked in and then sat down on one of the chairs in the kitchen.

I sat across from him, and we both sat in silence for a moment. Then I asked him once again. So, what's about to happen? I asked, looking at the stranger. You really don't know. The Soviets are invading. And if they lose the invasion, then the bombs are going off, no doubt. They're invading, I repeated, shocked.

That's what the government says anyway. And they've evacuated the entire south and northwest. They haven't got here yet, I asked inquisitively. I don't think they're really invading. I haven't heard so much as a peep since coming out here, not even our own military out here. I think they called the invasion off, or we beat them and our government hasn't told us yet.

They're always lying And why would the Soviets invade if they have rockets They would lose too many men to an invasion It's not worth it to them But better safe than sorry, am I right? He said, with a wide grin on his face I knew I needed to get in soon And who would have known it's been occupied

Do you have any communication with the outside world down here? Radio's been silent for months I don't even have it on anymore I said, still letting the stranger's story sink in. Well, there's not much here, so I don't need to give you the grand tour. Now that we're splitting rations, I only have food for a few more months of the most. After that, well, we'll deal with that when it comes along. I explained to the man, both of us still sitting in the kitchen chairs.

We don't need to wait that long. We don't need to wait that long. We can leave here sooner once we know for sure that there's no invasion. The man said, matter of factly. We both continued sitting there, the man letting the new atmosphere of the place sink in. In my mind, I was glad that someone else was here with me, but it couldn't help but feel slightly suspicious of the newcomer. I hadn't spoken to another soul in months,

so I just shrugged it off as anxiety from a change. change in my routine. We continued with the routine of living underground for the next couple months. We rarely talked and just sat around doing pointless tasks to pass the time. But every time we did talk, he always brought up the possibility that it was a false alarm and that the surface was clear. I wasn't about to risk everything I'd worked for to be destroyed by a chance that it was safe. When he wasn't talking about the surface being safe. He'd be talking about all of the government's lies and how they'd been manipulative. He was really starting to get to me. And he ate more food than I did. But I never complained.

I just acted like I didn't notice. But my resentment for him slowly grew. If he kept this up, we'd be out of supplies in a matter of weeks. Now I avoided talking to him because he would always return to the topic of the surface. Chances were, if we returned to the surface, we'd be met with a nuclear wasteland or staring down the barrels of Soviet rifles. Every time he said we should return, I dismissed him. He brought it up again later, and again and again. Finally, I snapped, and we got into an argument about the whole thing. The solitude was started in get to me and I let it all out on him. I'd been alone with that man for four months now. We just got about our routine. Some days speaking nothing at all. And the silence,

the silence is the kind of silence that you can hear. It sounds like nothing yet it makes the loudest noise. I can't take it anymore. I need a change. I'll be damned if he ruins everything. for me changes down here. Even our daily conversation. He still brings up the topic of returning to the surface. I feel like he's trying to get rid of me. Trying to steal everything that I've got for himself. That's why he's talking about the surface so much.

That's why he's always going on about it. He's out to get me because he wants it all to himself. And the other day we really got into it. We were in the living room, and he tried to bring it up again, and I responded with a smart retort. If you believe all the shit you say, and why the hell are you still here? I asked him in an aggressive tone. Because I don't want to go out there alone. Why don't you come with me?

He asked. The hell I am. There's no telling what could be up there. I sure don't want to be up there with you, I yelled in response. What the hell is that supposed to mean? If that's the case, why are you down here with me? He asked, standing up and stepping towards me. What?

You're the one who's down here with me. This is my place, and all you've done is take advantage of my hospitality. You won't shut the fuck up about all the lies and cover-ups done by the government. You actually believe that bullshit. You're going to get us both killed if you keep trying to leave. Oh, and you're some gracious host then? If you didn't want me down here, then why would you let me in in the first place? We're going to have to leave sometime, and you know it.

When that day comes, you won't turn my offer down." He said as he stormed out of the living room and into the bunk room. Now I know he's trying to lure me out. He hasn't even made an author other than to come up with him. I don't know what that whack job has planned. but I'm not falling for his shit. I'm not going to let him leave and endanger both of us. I should never have let him in in the first place.

I regret it every day. Every night I don't sleep out of fear that he's going to try something. Now I see signs of him planning it everywhere. He sounds suspicious. Every time I see him, he looks suspicious. How I would love to get rid of this. parasite and have my place all to myself once again. I can see it now. Things back to the way they used to be. The peace inquired I once despised. I now long for more than anything.

At this moment in time, there wasn't very much I wouldn't do to fulfill that desire. The next day, we ran out of food. He lost it again. We got into another argument and he stormed off, even angrier than the last time. Once again, my resentment grew to full-blown hate. Everything that was wrong, I found a way in my mind to pin it on him. Maybe it was being confined in this space for the better part of a year, or how little I communicate with the only other inhabitant, but, well, I started to get restless.

It gives me weird looks now, and we haven't spoken since the argument. He's going to do it soon. Because of the food problem, he's getting desperate. And so now I wait for him to make his move. I will make him regret it. I can't wait for it to happen. Finally, an excuse to rid myself of this freeloader. The night following the day we ran under supplies,

I sat in bed thinking about this man's story. If the Soviets were invading, then why didn't he just walk back to our lives? and get back to civilization. It didn't add up. He was hiding something. A reason for why he didn't want to go back to the rest of the country, but he didn't want to stay underground.

Every day my trust for the man wanes more and more. I started keeping a knife on me wherever I went. I was afraid that he'd try something so that he could leave. Whenever he was asleep, I would quietly sharpen the blade, telling myself how I can't wait to use it on the bastard. I could imagine plunging it into him and hearing the quiet once again. Oh, the piercing noise of silence. Every day I fought the temptation to use it on him.

Oh, how hard it was to resist the urge. But I knew the day would come. Soon, soon I can. I enjoyed the silence again. The next night, he snuck out of bed and tried to make a break for it. I was ready for him, though. I knew this was going to happen tonight, so I stayed up and waited for him to try it. He left the room and made a break towards the door to the ladder.

I jumped out of bed, grabbed the knife out of my pillowcase, and ran after him. He had to slow down to open the door, and even though the room was 20 feet across, I closed the distance between us in no time at all and tackled the man from behind. Get the hell off me, I'm getting out of here. He yelled, trying to throw me off of him. You don't know what you're doing. You're going to kill us both.

I yelled as I pinned him down and stabbed the knife downwards in an arc towards his chest. He saw the blade and tried to roll to the side and the blade caught him. The knife was lodged in between his ribs. So I resorted to my fist and started throwing punches towards his face. One punch landed squarely on his nose. I felt it crack beneath my hand.

Hot blood squirted all over my fist and his face. He yelled, turned over and kicked me off. He lunged for the ladder and tried to make his way up, yelling in pain from the knife lodged in his side. I climbed on the ladder as well, and tried to grab his leg where he kicked down and landed a hit squarely in my forehead. He kept going, and I kept following.

He made it to the top. I was right below him as he diverted his attention to the hatch. I reached up and grabbed his feet and pulled them from the rungs that were slippery from his blood. He let out a cry as he lost his balance and fell backwards, down the shaft of the tunnel and plummeted towards the bottom.

I heard him hit the sides on the way down, and he landed with a sickening crunch at the bottom of the ladder. I climbed down, making sure not to slip on the man's blood, which now stained the walls of the space as well. I reached the bottom of the ladder, saw the man's lifeless body, bent and broken,

laying in a heap at the bottom of the ladder. He was dead. Come to think of it. I never even knew his name. I had to do it though. He would have killed me. But now that he was gone, the silence was back. Oh, the dreaded silence.

So loud and so quiet all at once. I walked into the living room and reclined in a chair. And just listened. I swear, I heard the sound of cars. Not just cars, but the sound of people too. I must have been hallucinating. There was no way. I listened harder, straining myself to hear.

I'm sure enough, there it was. The sound of people talking. I followed the sound back up the ladder. slippery with blood, all the way to the base of the hatch. The voices were louder now. It sounded like someone was yelling. I grabbed the hatch and turned it, throwing open the heavy door once again. Outside, it was bright and sunny, and nearby the highway was littered with cars,

and two people arguing over a flat tire on the side of the road. He was right. He was an honest man who hadn't lied to me. His theories were right. And I'd killed him for it. And I'd enjoyed what I'd done. Because now I once again live in relative peace and quiet. Think about your health for a second.

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Eye exams are provided by independent optometrists. Visit specksavers.cavers.ca to learn more. The view from our classroom windows is nothing but a murky white. I bet if I went outside and looked down, I wouldn't be able to see past my knees. I won't be going outside, though. I honestly don't think I'll leave this classroom for a while. Our class, Gothic literature, was supposed to end at 1.30. I remember just staring at the clock, watching the seconds tick by, feeling Mr. Samson's voice drone through my body,

the monotone sound killing me into a haze of sleepy existence. I didn't get much sleep last night, and it certainly shuns. The classroom was lit solely by... fluorescent bulbs flickering on the ceiling, Samson having closed the blinds to avoid distracted glances about 15 minutes in. I wonder now if we would have noticed the building fog outside had the blinds been open.

Maybe we would have clambered together by the window, whispering in excitement to each other. Anything that wasn't hearing for the tenth time that week, how revolutionary Mary Shelley was for that time. Or hearing Susan beg him to cover Carmilla, Just for half a lesson, Mr. Sampson. It isn't unusual for a mess of high schoolers to grow distracted and excited at any little change. I mean, who can blame us?

The constant repetition. Regardless, I've gone too far off topic. So, it was about ten minutes before the bell was supposed to buzz, signifying the seven-minute-long break from our daily torture. That's when the intercom system crackled into life. We will now be having a little bit of a bit more. lockdown drill, we request everyone stay calm and follow the instructions of their current teacher. If you're outside your classroom, we ask you please to make your way back in a timely manner.

Thank you. I heard the collective groans of students who didn't want to crawl under their desks in the dark. Really, the only thing worse than this lecture is the singular sound of your desk makes breathing penetrating a heavy cover of silence. Nevertheless, we're used to lock down drills by now, The class shuffled slowly, desks creaking as students stood and crouched. Susan shoved herself under the teacher's desk, while Jamie and Audrey stood shoulder to shoulder in the tiny alcove just behind the doorway. We all waited with frustrated, bated breaths, knowing that in just a few seconds we'd hear someone try the doorknob, apparently to scare us.

It never works. And then the intercom system would announce the drill was over. But those sounds didn't come. Instead, all there was was silence. The reintroduction of sound started with a couple in the back corner, whispering and giggling to each other. Students, growing more impatient, began talking to each other. It took ten minutes before Mr. Sampson himself moved to his desk,

shewing Susan out in the process in an attempt to get some work done. Ten more minutes passed. He grew frustrated and motioned us back to our seats. That was when someone peaked outside. I'm not sure what they were looking for, maybe to see if it was a different sort of drill, or maybe if it wasn't a drill at all. It didn't take long for everyone else to be made aware of the oddity

that was the outside world. Hey guys, I can't see outside. It's like, well, hella foggy. I think her name was Ashley. I worked on a lab project with her once. Shit, she's right, the guy chimed in from across the room. Geez, that's a massive blockage. Oh, imagine driving in that.

Can't be foggy. It's not even humid out. Plus, it's already lunchtime. Way too late for far. Susan snorted. You know, like a smart ass. Well, it's clearly something. Do you think it's fucking with the cell phone towers?

I don't have any reception. Ashley spoke again. Guys, come on. No phones in class. We just touched on this day before yesterday. Well, despite Samson's protests, there was a quiet murmur of agreement. People who'd either check their phones prior and notice the same thing

or those who were checking them now and, well, noticing the same thing. Weather does screwy things, guys. Who knows? I finally interjected my own opinion, shrugging my shoulders. A few more murmurs, slowly growing louder in volume as friends and deskmates, began talking to each other to alleviate the border. Five minutes later, whatever the weather is doing to our phones clearly has done something else.

Because our electric went out. We could still connect to the Wi-Fi. Obviously, I'm writing this, aren't I? But nothing else. Lights burnt out. The projector wouldn't turn on. Even the hum of the air conditioner that we hardly notice anymore just went silent. It was around two o'clock we heard the first scream.

It was horrible and blood-curdling, and it came from outside. You could hear it reverberate from the glass window, cold to the touch. As I'd find out later, it was the first of many screams to come. Some kid had decided to go outside. He didn't know that yet, though. At this point, Mr. Samson had clearly had enough. I'm going to check with Miss Young next door. Stay put, and log the door behind me.

I'll be back shortly. Standing from his desk, he took brisk steps to the classroom door, exiting with a confidence only in authority figure hands. We followed his instructions. for a while at least. Minutes take by. Finally, around 2.30, we decided to just leave.

What were they going to do? We've been left with no guidance. Just a bunch of kids who totally didn't know better, right? It was cold outside as I passed the threshold. You know when you enter a Walmart at midnight and everything is just weird, like you're on a different plane? That's kind of what this felt like.

The halls were dark, silent. The only light strewn in was through the double doors in Hall B, casting large shadows behind doorways. The fog pressed against the door, almost ominously. I'm leaving, the guy from earlier shrugged, heading towards the doorway. Wait, what if they turn the alarms on? The doors will sound, especially if you're on a lockdown. Ashley pointed out. Yeah, powers out. I doubt they are.

He called from behind him. I only looked over at him when I heard the doors open. Immediately, he began screaming. He jerked away from the door, as if he'd been burned. The air smelled like chlorine and bleach. Maybe a bit of formaldehyde that the zoology class uses during exams. Door swung shut, the second he'd let go. the fog quickly dissipating.

Audrey rushed over to him, trying to help. What's the matter, Josh? She set a hand on his shoulder before jerking her own hand back, letting out a sharp exhale as if she'd been burned. Because she had. She seemed to notice the situation almost instantly, shrinking back from the cowering boy in front of her, now letting out a raspy, crackling moan of pain.

It reminded me of someone with new. pneumonia, the sound of it. Burning. His skin was burning. Bright, red, and blistering. And so was the palm of Audrey's hand. It's a chemical burn. What touched them?

Quick, there's a shower in the science lab. We should get them there. How did this happen? 30 voices all at once. We split up in the end. Five of them headed to 2B, the lab with the supposed shower. and the rest of us headed into the classroom.

Half of us eerily quiet. The other chattering in confusion and alarm. So, here we are, folks. A couple of hours later, in a classroom surrounded by white. A fog of chemicals. We should find someone who knows what's going on. I mean, we can't just sit here, can we?

And yet, that's exactly what we're doing. I'm posting this now. You guys seem to know your way out of some less than ideal situations. And I'm at a loss. I'm scared. Well, we have a lot of good news and a lot of bad news. Everything is jumbled up in my head right now and my hands won't stop shaking. So, please bear with me.

Well, some minor bad news first. I can't smell. Ever since I could smell the gas, I just can't anymore. everything burnt for a while and then it just stopped. My nose is constantly congested and even when it's not, there's just nothing. Well, I'm incredibly frustrated by this. It doesn't help that it feels harder to breathe. Like a big weight is sitting on my chest.

I don't know if that's just my grief getting the best of me, or an omen of something worse and unseen. Also, we aren't going to piss on things. I mean, sorry, I know. That's probably the smart option, but we've collectively decided that dignity still holds firm. Well, as much as it can right now, anyways. The good news. A lot of us followed some of your advice.

Why we don't have advanced science materials, funding. No, we did have trash bags and duct tape. We sealed off two classrooms and used coats and emergency blankets to make bedding for us last night. I was right. It was a long night. Ashley eventually cried herself to sleep, I think around 1 a.m. It was late. The classroom was so dark it's hard to explain. You spent so much time around light pollution or under a blanket of stars and moonlight.

It's really freaking jarring when you can't make out anything at all. There's nothing for your eyes to adjust to. Just pitch, blackness. I'm sorry, but it really shook me up, guys. This morning, the first thing we did, did was head up to the roof. I was one of the stupid people that decided to, well, do it. And once we got up there, we noticed that the fog reaches the top of the second story. It just barely brushes the edges of the roof. Also, it's massive. I can't see the end of it. And that's saying

something considering I can see the town. That admittedly worried a few of us quite a lot. What about our parents, our siblings. A few people had family out of town. I wasn't one of them. My call rings through, but no one has ever answered. I cried. A lot. I have no idea if they're okay or not. Miles and miles of this farm. We're stranded in a rickety boat on a monstrously huge ocean. I don't think anyone would help us, even if someone who could was in town. How would anyone even get to us. Somewhere along the line, everyone filtered off the roof and back into the school. And I was left alone, staring off into a sea of grey and white. After a very long time of just sitting and staring out into the mist, I slowly rose, making my way back down the stairs.

Ashley was crying again. I could hear her, faintly, her sobs bouncing off the school walls. I rapped gently on the lab door. Audrey, was there, holding her wrapped hand. I'm heading to the cafeteria. Did you want to come with me? It felt like the one nicety we could afford right now, trying to include people. Sure, not like I'm any use here anyway.

She lowered herself from the lab table she'd been sitting on, following me out of the classroom. As we passed over the doorway, I tried not to look at the sheet covering Josh, brown with dry blood that had seeped from his body. burns. I wonder if it smelled like rot. Our footsteps were our only company for a while, our tennis shoes squeaking against the waxed floor.

How's your hand? I tentatively asked. I mean, it doesn't hurt anymore. I can't feel much of anything in it, if I'm being totally honest. That didn't seem good. I read something once about how once a burn got bad enough. you couldn't feel it anymore once it ate through your skin and down through your very nerve endings Have you heard from your family? No

The entire town's like this We could see it from the roof Her polite smile Dropped at this Of you? I have a few of my cousins They live out in Ohio I can't reach anyone else though

We aren't We aren't even on the news Sam No one has heard anything about us There's a blockade on the town line. She drove down to check last night, but the guys there won't tell my cousin anything, just so the town is zoned off until stated otherwise. The voice wavered before she cleared her throat,

pulling her gaze from mine. I looked down at my feet. Hmm, that's weird, I managed in response. I thought a lump in my throat as emotions threatened to overwhelm me too. I didn't want to be like Ashley, crying over something I had no control over. Helpless, though. That is exactly what we are. Even we haven't seen any of our classmates.

Where are they? Where's Mr. Sampson? And that shit the fog did to Josh and I? What if someone opens the main doors? I don't know, I admitted shakily. It was then we reached the hallway in front of the cafeteria. I heard her gag audibly, covering her face with her hands. What? What's wrong?

Field of corpses. We could see them from the window on the door before we could open the cafeteria doors. Dry blood coated the floor in front of dead eyes and slag jaws. Jesus! I managed. The smell. Audrey's wretches. I suppose I got my answer.

it did smell like rocks. I could taste it, just faintly, in the air that I breathe. Oh my God! She heaved again, doubled over, clutching at her stomach with her bad hand. I set a hand on her shoulder. It likely wasn't safe to be near there. Come on, I pulled her down the hallway. There goes the perishable foods.

We could probably loot the vending machines, though. I'm dead, Sam. What happened? The dead can't speak. It was the verbal equivalent of a shrug. Somebody must have left a window open. I don't know. Lunch C would have been occurring around the time of the lockdown.

I shook my head. We need to tell the others. I tugged her gently after me. I felt no. Trapped. I wondered if I screamed off of the roof, just yelled at the top of my left. lungs if there was anyone left to hear me at all. Samantha, Audrey!

Standing there when we ran in the corner was Miss Young. Audrey stifled a sob, running forward to hug her on instinct. Dear, what happened to your hands? The woman rests a hand on her back, looking up at me. I tried to help Josh. The voice was muffled. I tried so hard. The cafeteria is dangerous, I whispered, pure ecstatic relief rushing through my veins. Yeah, I figured. Come on. Mine and a few other classes are holed up in the auditorium. The teachers are trying to collect stragglers right now, anyone we can find. It isn't safe to be roaming around right now. She gently pulled Audrey off her, coaxing us both down winding halls and label doors.

At least a hundred kids were in the auditorium. I recognised a few, and so did Audrey. A few yells of joy were heard. A few kids were crying. Emotions were, overall, mixed. I suppose we found out where the others went, though. It wasn't until dark that everyone, as many as they could find anyways, finished slowly filtering their way through the auditorium doors.

The only light that accompanied us was the occasional find. screen. Ms. Young was a force of life in the dark curtain they enclosed us all. Quiet, everyone, she shouted, holding up her hands. It took a few tries before a hush fell over the room. Even through the darkness, you could tell her expression was solemn. Miss Whitaker, Mr. Wardell and myself are the only teachers we found so far. It would appear, as I'm sure many of yourselves have already discovered to be the case, that we are underwent. unable to leave this school. You'll find that any efforts to will result in bodily harm. The air outside is incredibly dangerous. We ask that you all refrain from opening any outside doors,

along with going down the language hallway, mouth hallway or cafeteria hallway. Each of these are areas that have open windows. While you can see the fog in some, in others it's not so readily visible, but pause. She peered out at all. all of us. We have to get into contact with anyone in town, but we're working on contacting the proper officials. We ask that you all stay calm in the meanwhile. Food will be supplied to you as often as we possibly can, along with water. Please avoid running taps for the time being, as that water could be contaminated. We're all doing our best, and promise we'll get you all home safe and sound as soon as possible.

And with that, she walked off to convene with the other teachers. Students clamored, a wave of pure chaos and sound erupting from the room. My parents. My friends, they were at lunch. Are they okay? Does anyone have a charger? I'm starved. I hate this. My sister's home alone. Can't we just leave? It was a while before things settled down. And I figured I'd update all. all of you. Clearly, some sort of officials know what's going on because the town is walled off. I don't know how the teachers intend on contacting people in town, but I do believe they'll try their best. The worry on Mrs. Whitaker's face told that. I think one or two of them are parents

themselves. Audrey, along with a few other students who got exposed, are getting looked at right now. Mr. Wardell teaches Kemp, so I'm hoping he can help her. This can't last long right. I mean, the cloud has to dissipate eventually, doesn't it? Doesn't it? I haven't heard any animal since everything started. Usually you can hear the birds from classrooms on a good day, with how thin the walls are, but I can't even hear them from the roof.

Trust me, I try. I went up there last night to get some sort of air away from the mugginess of a hundred sweaty teenagers. But the silence was even worse. God, I have a cat at home. I keep thinking about her. I hope she's okay. I don't remember anyone leaving any windows open when I left for school,

but it's been a couple of days, so my memory is questionable at best. This morning, ten of us woke up sick, myself included. Fever, nausea, congestion. I overheard Miss Whitaker talking to Miss Young. She thinks a few of us have pneumonia. As soon as they found out we were sick, a mass effort was made to tape off any vents and doorways to the outside. A sort of makeshift school-wide quarantine.

I heard they managed to reclaim the cafeteria somehow, but I honestly don't want to go there. I don't think all the bleach in the school could clean up that much blood and God knows what they did with the bodies. They did, on a brighter note, though. Get the generator up and running. It's nice to have light again, especially in the bathrooms.

Pissing in the dark is no easy task. Let me tell you that. I've got some of my hands and pans more than once. Well, we only have about a week's worth of gas, so we shut it off during the daylight to conserve it. Audrey won't talk to me about her hand. I've tried asking what Mr. Wardell told her, but she won't budge.

She just stares off into the distance and gives a small shrug of her shoulders. Whatever it was, I can't imagine it was good news. I would have given her a hug, but it was advised we avoid physical contact with those who are ill for the time being. Which, unfortunately, once again, includes me. I can't count the number of times I've dry heaved on my own snort. I woke up around three in the morning, gagging and coughing. I was hesitant to fall back asleep. There isn't enough room to sleep on outside in the auditorium.

And aspirating is a very real fear of mine. I doubt it's realistic, but it's a fear nonetheless. Burning up at 102, last we checked, it is just perfect. A few of the students are rambling about the fog, and this being related, but there was a pretty bad bout of the flu going around my town before we got locked up in here. I have no doubts that some kid's asshole parent made them come to school and they managed to infect us all. Ashley's finally stopped crying. I think she realized that it won't do her any good.

I was actually doing the exact opposite. I noticed a lot of the students avoiding her last night. Emotions can be caught just as easily as a virus. I think most of us have shut down to avoid that at this point. No one wants to be exposed and involved. at this point in time. That being said, there are a couple of students who aren't keeping to themselves.

Bringing water to those of us that are sick. Blankets to those shivering. And at one point, a couple of kids got some instruments out of the bandroom and played a couple of songs. It was actually really nice. It makes you forget, at least for a bit, the severity of the situation we're in.

The ones helping are trying to do more than survive, something that a lot of us aren't attempting at this point in time. But this situation has reached a pinnacle of severity, though. You only have enough food for a couple of weeks. A few of us are diabetic, or have chronic or mental illnesses, medications for which we don't keep at school. I haven't had Ambien in three days. The nightmares for me are horrific.

I would do anything to make them stop, and I know this is only the beginning. beginning for me. I can't imagine what withdraws some of us are going through, especially the drug dealers. I've seen a couple people pace down the hallways when they thought no one was looking or sliver off into an empty room. Well, we've had a couple of kids have complete breakdowns, be them sobbing or fits of anger. We had a panic attack or two last night. On top of these issues, two of the kids had a freaking fist fight in the hallway. I heard the shouting, and kept me up. well at some point the teachers broke it up but it's clear that tensions are building fast

too many hormonal kids stuffed in a room together without medication I want to feel bad for my classmates I really do but I just find myself stuck on the most mundane things possible guess I'm avoiding the situation in a way on the bright side we can't exactly take finals at a time like this so studying isn't really necessary I've seen a couple of of the AP students in the library hunched over stacks of study guides. Weird kids, those are.

Well, whatever helps you cope, though, I guess. Now, a lot of you wanted me to wander off on my own. I'm glad I didn't. Both because of my lack of skills and sudden sickness. And also because I spotted a familiar face in the crowd once the lights run. Seth and I have been friends since freshman year. So it was a happy reunion. He gave me back the book you'd borrowed a couple of days ago.

Well, it feels like weeks now. And it was one of my favourites, so when I'm able to, I've been reading that. God, I was freaking dying of boredom. Survival is really dull after a while of it. I did find a couple of manuals in the library for water filtration, shared them with Miss Young. She agreed on both this, and reaching out to the news outlet, so our day has mostly been focused on those two things.

Audrey got in contact with her cousins who finally got one of the guys at the blockade to talk somehow he confirmed that it's a chemical spill and they're working on resolving the issue they can't for their own safety attempt a rescue operation until everything is cleaned up there's not a way of telling how long that will take though

I've heard they're still trying to keep it on the down low but I've been trying to avoid the news lately so I don't know for sure I do know that the fog is getting worse somehow. You can hardly see outside the second story anymore, and it's starting to crawl over the edge of the roof, according to some band kid. Some kid named Brady did go missing.

They thought he'd managed to get over the wall of the language hall. But no, the stupid fuck went and opened the goddamn doors. Managed to shove the doorstep under it, too. We're lucky the teachers walled off of the separate hallways. They're hesitant to let anyone wander nearly outside doors now and have set up a few posts of supervision Mostly kids who've seen some shit and managed to keep their shit together in the past They haven't said it but I saw Susan chilling in front of the doors to the math whore

And I know for a fact her family life is fucked I mean she's annoying as shit but I suppose I trust her more than most of the rest of them I did suggest before Brady went missing that we brought branch off into several rooms for sleep, so it's at least less crowded and stuffy. But after everything went down, that idea was quickly shot down as well. There goes, getting some peace and quiet. I heard Mr. Wardell's working with a few of the science buffs to figure out how we can stop whatever is outside from hurting us even more, along with possibly the pipeline so that we

have more water. But between that and kids who were already injured, his hands are pretty full. I did write down all of your suggestions and share them with him, so... Just so he had some sort of starting point. He seemed grateful, so thank you all. One of the kids mentioned that a few of them were trying out some sort of makeshift suit, or... So, more on that later, I suppose. I'm worried that one of the teachers were wanted to test if he's telling the truth.

We always say women and children first to be saved, but truth be told, the teachers have degrees. They've taken a variety of courses and seen way more shit than we have Not to mention some semblance of mental stability They aren't gods But they're far more helpful than most of us are We can't afford to lose them Now

I can't stop coughing I need to rest It's still pretty early in the evening So I'll do my best to keep you all updated As the night progresses In the meantime If you guys have any advice about fevers please let me know.

We're too low on ibuprofen and Tylenolts to afford using it just yet. But I am absolutely miserable. Well, I'm not dead. It about sums up the rest of it for you. I'm alive, and so are some of the kids that were there with me at the school. It's been about two weeks since we got home,

and things have been unsettlingly normal. Everyone just expects us to go back to our dad, day-to-day lives as if nothing happened. The world continues turning, despite our efforts to ground it. A lot of us lost family. I was one of the lucky few that didn't. Needless to say, this will be my last update. I don't feel as though anything particularly horrifying is occurring anymore,

and I'm just trying to cope, I guess. Reaching out to all of you to let you know that I'm alive. I guess I need to talk about it a bit with people who haven't gone through it and aren't professionals. God knows I've seen enough of those. The government got involved in it. It wasn't until several psychologists got involved that we, the students, were even allowed to talk to our families about anything that had happened. Non-disclosure agreements are one.

They still want to keep everything hush-hush, and understandably so. It turns out a lot of you were right. They sat me down in the psychologist's office. I remember because the walls were so bare compared to the ones I'd been in previously. The clock ticked on the wall and what few trinkets lined the shelves were abstract. Geez, I hate abstract art.

I like to make sense of shit. Not the exact opposite. Well, anyway, the man sat me down. He stared across at me from his own chair. Glasses framed his half-slit eyes. as he cautiously explained to me exactly what had happened. The chemical plant malfunctioned. They believe it overheated, he explained to me,

in a voice sickeningly smooth. It felt like honey was being forced down my throat. Why didn't people come and get us sooner? I mean, we waited a whole week in that hellhole, and in that time a lot more people die. Well, they didn't want to risk anyone else. they didn't think anyone had survived, he explained. There was an appointing sending a huge rescue team for dead bodies

they could recover once the fog are clear. No mince word there. I felt like I was floating, disconnected from my own body. I guess somewhere along the line I just shut down. About a week was spent just existing, pacing nervously, eating only when hunger pains crept their way into my bones. sleeping only when I would fade into unconsciousness as I want but well you guys don't want to hear about that you don't want to hear about what happened at the school you know the

flu caused fevers horrible ones students already going through withdrawals snapped one attempted to flood the theater room by opening up the main doors but the teachers were able to stop him they weren't able to stop a kid named Tyler from grabbing a knife and going on a stabbing spree though. We lost four students and a teacher to that. Susan and Mr. Wardell were among the casualties. Tyler had made his way through Suzanne's impromptu guard watch. Mr. Wardell tried to stop him but was unsuccessful.

I remember the screaming. Deffiningly loud as echoed through the large room meant to only amplify sound. Ironic, right? We put the bodies in the basement, along with the others that had piled up. I volunteered to help. The smell that permeated the basement was sickening, an instinctually gut-wrenching smell that caused me to heave. I still had a fever when the fog began to clear enough

that the police made their way through the doors. They checked all of us out individually and stayed with us for a day as we waited for the outside to be clear enough to leave. It was a rest at night. our rescue had come but we were still trapped other than that the school was mostly just

boredom power went out somewhere along the line we ran out of gas hence my sudden radio silence and most of the time was spent either talking to each other or just staring at the walls in boredom without light it was hard to read in most

of the classrooms the library had some windows but not very many without fresh water it was hard to bathe or use the restroom without fresh food cooking was nullified and reduced to canned food any outlets for fun were gone replaced with silence despite getting out i still feel that way i feel worse than when i was in the school despite the amount of death i'd seen and the horror i was in i felt fine relatively speaking. But now I'm restless and frustrated. Can't sleep anymore. Not unless I'm collapsing out of pure exhaustion.

When I finally do, I have nightmares. There are times I wish nothing had ever happened and unspeakably at times I wish I'd never left the school. The only good thing is that Audrey and I became friends. Companions over

countless text messages meant to comfort one another. She lost her hand. It was too damaged. They performed the amputation a couple of days ago. I went to visit her after the surgery. She didn't even seem phased by it, just there for the ride, if that makes sense.

It's like she didn't even register it. And despite the expected normalcy, everything feels anything but. I feel like a shadow of a person, walking their way through a stranger's life. It doesn't feel like mine anymore. The psychologist said it's due to trauma. I don't know.

School starts back after Christmas, but I do not want to go back. They talk a lot about horror being the events, but the aftermath is where the real terror is involved. The countless days of time lost to a wandering mind and an empty body. I'm nothing more than a fear-filled husk expected to continue on as if nothing had ever happened. I'm expected to celebrate Christmas with my family. I'm supposed to laugh and decorate the tree.

We're supposed to be excited to go back to school when the break is over and see my friends. But I'm not. I'm just tired. Hey Ontario, come on down to bed MGM casino and check out our newest exclusive. The price is right, fortune pick. Don't miss out. Play exciting casino games based on the online. iconic game show only at bedmgm. Access to the Price is right fortune pick is only available at

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Hey, hey, can you hear me? You okay? Can you hear us? I remember feeling strange, like, after you wake up from a long nap in the middle of the day, but I also felt uncomfortable at the same time. I felt sore like I hadn't moved for a long time. I sat up slowly and looked around. I noticed three people.

The first guy I saw was wearing a white dress shirt with black pants, a tie, and black shoes. A woman next to him was wearing pajamas. A black shirt of a picture of a band I'd never heard of, pajama pants and sneakers. The last guy next to her was a young-looking guy wearing a dark blue jumpsuit. "'What's going on? Where am I?' "'We've been wondering the same thing,' said the guy in the dress shirt. "'When did you guys get up?'

"'Not long before you. About a couple minutes,' said the woman nervously. "'The room was big, or at least seemed big, because there was really nothing in it. It wasn't tall, but the ceiling seemed to be as tall as a normal house ceiling, and the room itself just seemed to be as big as a normal room. There were three outlines behind me of what looked like doors, like as if they were meant to be pushed or slid upwards like a garage door. At the time, I thought there were entrances. But why three doors?

I thought that it couldn't be for each of us at the time since, well, there were four of us. The walls had weird scuff marks that made it look like something heavy that slid a across the walls. All I thought at the time was how strange it was. I got up and looked around. I noticed something else strange. There were these black orbs indented in the walls, all except for the one behind me. Right above the orb on the front wall was a rectangular thing. It was black and looked to be made of the same material as the orbs. The guy in the jumpsuit walked up to me. They're cameras. What?

They're cameras. Those things on the walls. I mean, what else could those things be? I see them at work all the time. Except they're not indented into walls. They're usually on the corners of ceilings. Well, why the hell are they inside the walls? That doesn't make any sense.

And what's that thing above it? Honestly, man, I don't know. Another camera maybe. Who knows? I mean, what even is this place? How do we even get here? I mean, the last thing I remember is just mopping the floors and then, well, I'm here. The guy in the white shirt then said, I was just sitting at my desk. I remember feeling really tired, though, like I hadn't slept in days. Me too, said the girl. I remember getting out of bed and heading over to my car to pick up some drive-through breakfast. All of a sudden, I just felt extremely tired, then, well, I woke up here. Once she was finished, everyone looked straight at me.

I felt uneasy. I explained that I was just washing the dishes at my house, and then I too remember having this great tiredness. I told them that the last thing I heard was some dishes crashing to the floor. Once I'd finished talking, the guy in the button up headed towards the outline of the doors. At first, he tried feeling them. He then tried pushing and kicking at the doors. Of course, nothing happened.

I then went up to the doors and asked the guy in the jumpsuit to come over as well. I then said, All right, on three, we all push each of the doors at the same time. One, two, three, we all pushed on the doors at the same time. Nothing happened. You've got to be kidding me. said the guy in the jumpsuit. The guy in the dress shirt then said,

All right, let's think. What's our goal here? To get the doors open, said the guy in the jumpsuit. No, of course that's the point. I mean, what will get the door open? We know that we're surrounded by cameras. There's four of us and only three doors. I then said,

What's that supposed to mean? The guy in the dress shirt then shot a look at me. He looked more serious than before. Look, three guys, one girl, in a locked room. My heart started pounding. The guy in the jumpsuit showed a clear look of fear and disgust. I looked over at the girl in the pajamas, and she looked like she was about to cry.

Hold on, she says. If any of you so much as lay a finger on me, I swear... I'm just thinking out loud, okay. Well, that's the weird thing about thinking out loud, said the guy in the jumpsuit. What do you think we're supposed to do? I don't know, man. Just not that.

As soon as he said that, there was a loud sound that seemed as if it came from some industrial machine. The rectangular thing on the top of the camera then lit up, and letters formed on the side. small device. It said, only three. The walls on the left and right started closing in, then the three doors opened up. The doors weren't entrances. They were pods that were meant to protect us from the walls while they were closing. Everything started to make sense, and a feeling of dread came upon me. He was right, said the guy in the jumpsuit. I looked at the guy in the dress shirt,

and I saw him immediately kick the woman. The guy in the jumpsuit ran towards the dress shirt guy and punched him in the face, knocking him down. I helped the girl up, then looked over at the jumpsuit guy. He'd been knocked down by the other guy. The dress shirt guy then started wailing on him. I ran over and tackled the dress shirt guy. I got on top of him, trapped his arms with my legs,

and started punching him in the face till my hands hurt. Once he looked like he couldn't do anything else, I got up and sprinted toward the middle door. The jumpsuit guy got in the door to the right of me. When we'd all gotten into the doors or pods, a clear glass door formed in front of me. Since I was in the middle, I got to see a man pound on the glass door and plea for me to help him, watching him turn into nothing, hearing his bones crack and break, and I put an indescribable feeling in me

that I don't think I'll ever be able to explain. And that was the last thing I remember. They must have knocked me out again. I know. If you're wondering why I'm writing this, well, I don't know who to talk to. If I tell someone I know, they could get hurt.

If I tell this to a bunch of strangers, well, you won't get hurt. I mean, who's going to believe some guy on Reddit talking about a torture chamber, right? So, I'm a guy in his early 30s with a four-year degree and a poor temperament. There isn't much in the way of career options out there

for someone like me, but I do what I do to get by. I live alone in a month-to-month studio apartment with a communal bathroom everybody who lives on my floor uses. Yeah, great. And I embraced a new gig economy as soon as it started in my area. I use an old smartphone to download apps that are work-related, but it does the trick for now. I hunt for jobs on Craiglist every day when I have a few minutes of downtime. Eat like crap, sleep like crap, and what few romantic prospects I've ever had in my life were

few and far between a very long time ago. Well, I worked at two or three jobs. I worked at two or three jobs, can't quite remember my field of choice, for a grand total of two years. The longest job I've ever had beyond that was as a pizza guy for three miserable years. I seen some strange things in my time as a delivery boy. I walked up to a door, answered by a naked person, or sometimes naked people. I've nearly been mugged a few times driving around Wilmington. How there was even the time I talked a guy out of suicide. Well, he was a good tipper. But all of those things pale in comparison to the last gig job I took. Well, it wasn't so much of the job, but the last delivery that I ever made for it.

I've been hired by a baggage courier service in Philadelphia. They put out a Craigslist ad, and I managed to email a resume to them from my phone. They worked out of Essington, PA, right outside the town of Chester, Philadelphia International Airport, and the Delaware River. The pay seemed good. Not great, but the hours were good. I work second shift, 2 to 10pm, which allowed me to get some sleep after my paper route. The job involved driving a crappy white Ford, Econ-aligned van to the airport, and stop at

each baggage office at each terminal. Once there, we went to each airline's lost baggage office to grab what hadn't made it off the flight for whatever reason. After all of the lost bags were collected, we drove the van back to the shop and unloaded it, all based on routes in Jersey and the Philadelphia suburbs in Delaware. Even though I'm from Delaware, yes, it's a real estate that exists. I never actually got to take the Delaware route. Often I was relegated to Jersey.

After the bags were sorted, we used a lost baggage app to cross-reference each bag to our own delivery code so that the passengers of the airline would know that we had their bag, that we were bringing it to them and what our personal vehicles looked like. What the app didn't tell them, something that they never seemed to understand anyway, is that we often took 10 to 15 bags at a time. Thus their bag was part of a route and everyone had a window of four to six hours to receive their bag. When I started the job, I figured that people would be grateful enough just to have their stuff back. But that was never the case. They gave me dirty looks. I received nasty phone calls from some of them. And they gave me

every sob story under the sun. I never received a single thank you or a tip or any form of gratitude. I had half a mind to say to these people, I'm sorry, sir, I'm sorry, madam. This is my job and I do the best I can at it. I'm sorry that your Samsonite is one of the 15 bags I had, oh, and I had to stop for gas as well. If that bag is worth less than your time,

perhaps I could have chucked it into the Delaware River, thus ridding us both of this inherent pain-in-the-air suitcase. God, I hate people almost as much as I hate July. But this little tale of mine isn't about, about any of those ungrateful people. This is a story about the last bag I ever delivered. I'd only been with a company for about three weeks. Doing any form of manual labor in Philadelphia in July is humid death and the sun stays out until about nine in the evening. But, well, this was the only job I could immediately find. Well, one particular day, I was getting ready to

take the jersey route, a total of eight bags that day. When I got called, into the office by Heather, the owner of the company. She told me that Frontier has just received another bag and they begged us to take it. Where is it going? Faster. Tom's River, she replied, cringing a little bit as she braced for my reaction. Oh, Tom's River was only about two hours from the Curry office, that's all. Included with my other eight bags, oh, why would I be so angry about having to drive two hours out of my way. Get the hell out of here. I immediately yelled back.

It's a lot of money, she snapped back at me. You'll make $120 off this bag alone. I rub my chin inside, pacing in the office and thinking hard about the delivery. I must have given myself away because when I look back at her, she had a slight quiver of a smile on her lips. Well, I guess I don't have much of a choice. her. I'll head back to the terminal. Don't get any ideas about making something like this a regular thing, by the way. This is a one-time only favour that I'm doing for you. She scoffed. Yeah, I've heard

that before, Richard. Anyway, when you get back to the office, I won't be here. I'll see you tomorrow. I took my own camry to the terminal this time. I hated that damn van anyway, and it just made sense to drive my own car. I parked outside with the blinkers on in the pickup lane. I let the nearby parking authority in state police know who I was with and ran inside to the frontier baggage claim. The woman behind the desk, Gina, was on the phone when I got there. I'd met Gina before and she smiled as I made my way to the desk. She held up a finger to me and said goodbye into the phone and hung up the receiver. And then she turned to me.

Hey, Ricky, she said to me cheerfully. Oh, I'm glad you could make it. I just got off the phone with Heather. I ran my hand through my hair Tom's River, Gina Really? She threw her hands up I'm sorry

They just send them to me and I call you guys I told my supervisor how expensive this bag would be And he didn't care So here we are I know I replied Yeah I'm sorry Are there any special instructions with the bag

She sucked air through her teeth It sounded so vile that I'll never forget it well she started but then trowed off gina i replied sternly without saying a word eyes darted to the corner of the office i whipped round and stared for a moment saw it in the corner and threw up my arms in disgust the bag was this old blue leather jet flight brand piece of crap well most of it was blue it was blue it was yellowed in a few places and some of the leather chipped off It was from the 1950s, before rolling luggage was a thing, and this was just a handle suitcase. I turned back to look at Gina. I don't know, she said to me, apologetically. We ran it through the X-ray machine, and there's nothing but clothes in it.

The name, address, and phone number are on the slip. That's the best I can do, Ricky. Sorry. I looked down at the suitcase and pulled the tag off. Pulled out my phone and caught the phone number on the suitcase tag. It rang twice and I swear to God did the strangest thing afterward. There was a click on the other end

like someone had picked it up but there wasn't any ambient noise in the background no one said hello no one breathed into the microphone I didn't hear any noises in the background I didn't even hear the static of the landline itself there was nothing well I hung up and tried calling back

but this time I got a message that the number was out of service, which made even less sense. I looked down at my phone to make sure I had the right number, and then I looked back at Gina again. She started to say something, but her phone rang. She said her greeting and then shrugged at me, mouthed, sorry, and then she turned back and walked into the office behind the desk. I took a breath and bent down to get the back. Oh, I nearly blew out every muscle in my body when I tried to lift it by the handle. My back felt like it strained muscles in three different places. What the hell is in this thing? Cement. I asked myself as I worked to massage the pain out of my lower back. What did Gina say was in the bag? Nothing but clothes.

Not knowing what else to do, I notified a security guard that I was leaving the bag in the office. I walked down to the Delta Airlines hub to grab their baggage cars. They were always jackasses, as they used a different recovery service, and they usually mock my car. company in the few times I'd had to deal with them. They always made me leave my ID with them, but I didn't really have a choice this time. All of the other baggage offices were closed by now. I entered Delta and I board the smirking representative. With some coaxing, eventually the rep let me use the baggage cards. When I made it back to the frontier, the lights in the office were still on, but there was no sign of Gina. I readied the cart next to the bag. I braced myself to pick

get up using my legs this time and I put my hand on the handle. When I pulled, I flew backwards and landed on my back, carrying the bag with me as it landed on my stomach, nearly taking the wind out of my lungs. It weighed about as much as a feather this time. I rolled onto my feet and looked around to make sure that no one saw me make an ass out of myself, and then I looked down at the suitcase. Did someone tamper with it when I was getting the bag of? card. I grabbed the handle and tried it again, this time with only a little force. Yep, it was just as light this time. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes in that moment. What happened with this bag? Are I just fatigued? I asked myself, trying to rationalize things. I rub my chin

and grabbed the bag again, then I tossed it onto the baggage cart. As dumb as that may seem, I went out of my way to get that damn cart, so I was determined to use it. I wheeled the cart out of my Camry, and I popped the trunk, which was already weighed down by the other bags. Burning daylight now, and I had to get out on my jersey route, so I just tossed it in and ripped the tag off to keep with the other tags. I shifted them around so that the old jet flight bag was last. Thus, it would be the last delivery on the route. I closed my trunk and grabbed the baggage cart, so I could take it back to Delta. of the Camry and drove up 95 north and over the Walt Whitman Bridge. As I drove towards Camden County,

New Jersey, I noticed a smell in the air. It was a faint but a foul aroma. I chalked this up to me simply driving through New Jersey and programmed Google Maps towards the first destination on my route. The route was as scenic as it always was. The stops in Mount Laurel, Cherry Hill, Glaspera and Vineland. The office made sure that I would beat my car to death in the July human with as much backtracking as I usually had to do. Yep, this is the way we did things. In order of distance from the office, time received as opposed to some straight line during delivery.

One by one, I dropped the bags off until I was left with only the jet flight bag. I programmed the street address to the destination in Tom's River into my phone's GPS and started up 295 north from where I was. It'll take another hour and a half to get there, as I expected. As I passed through Trenton, I noticed the smell again and began to think about it. It had fluctuated between pungent and faint, but it never left the camera.

Not only did the smell linger, but now it was getting overbearing. I looked to each shoulder for cops, and I accelerated faster. I raced towards Tom River, so I could drop this damn bag off and call it a night. My stomach was killing me with hunger pains, but I was close to the exit for the town now, and according to the maps, I was about 30 minutes away altogether. I noticed that I was taking shallow, measured breaths at this point, that I was starting to get dizzy. To wait myself up, I slowed down to check the tag again.

The name on the tag was Richard Higgins. And other than a phone number that didn't seem to work correctly, the tag showed the Tom's River address, a barcode, and an I-A-T-A number. I wish Gina would have been able to give me more information, like if Frontier had ever spoken with Gloria or if it could just leave the suitcase on the porch and wave the signature. But that was the nature of the beast with this job. Some pop-punk song from my high school days blared from the radio

as it came back from a commercial break. I smiled and sang along a little bit until I had to look at my GPS again to make sure I was still within spitting distance. I turned the radio down to plan my route in my mind. What in the goddamn hell? I screamed out, nearly swerving into a car in the lane to the right of me. The shock sent me into a panic while I tried desperately to move to the right side shoulder. It had been the sound of an elderly woman.

Well, kind of. I mean, that's the best way to describe what I heard. There was something off about that voice. Something I couldn't quite figure out while I parted on the shoulder and tried to calm myself down. I thought to myself, what was that? How did it know my name? With the Camry and Park, I got out as fast as I could. Someone blared their horn at me as they nearly took my driver's side door off. I walked around to the front of the car to try and calm down. I stared into the back seat through the windshield, but there was nothing there except for my

discarded Burger King wrappers. I opened my door again and popped the trunk, then made my way around to check the back of the car. The jet flight bag was still in the trunk. I grabbed its handle and pulled it out, half expecting to throw my back out again. But it was as lightweight as an old bag filled with pajamas should have been. Put the bag back in, shut the trunk lid, and took a few deep breaths. Everything's fine. You're fine. You're just tired and working too hard. I told myself, if anyone needs a vacation it's you Rick when I got back in my car

I noticed something good actually the smell was gone but its absence for some reason I only served to make me more paranoid than I was when I'd pulled over

I should have been able to locate that smell its sudden absence didn't mean that the problem was gone and that put me on edge behind the wheel of the Camry I sat in the driver's seat for a moment hesitant to pull out into the traffic. I looked over at my phone and the GPS map on it.

I was only about 15 minutes away from the location now, which gave me a little relief. I shifted into drive and merged back into the traffic. I finally wound up at my last delivery. It was 9.30 by that time, which made me curse myself in frustration. That always bothered me about people who complained I was taking too long to get to their houses with their bags. It was never my desire to drive around until 11 o'clock or midnight with their bags, just so I could end up back at my shitty apartment at 3 in the morning.

Yeah, I shook my head at the thought and check the bag tag again. 1260, Landing Way. Tom's River, New Jersey. Staring at the sign for Landing Way, I pulled my car down the street, checking the numbers on the houses as I drove so I could find 1260. I pulled close to 1256 and I noticed that there weren't any other houses on that side of the street and about a half mile down the street there was a dead end sign I pulled up beside 1256 and gauged the situation

my GPS notified me that I'd arrived but at the time I didn't think that was possible I shifted to park and looked at what was supposed to be 1260 landing way this is supposed to be the part of the story where I lock eyes with a cliche of some kind. Well, I figured I'd pull up to the Bates Mansion or Hague Gein's house or something to that effect. I wish I could write about things like boarded-up windows, Gothic editions, or someone looking at me through a curtain. If I'd seen any of those things, maybe that day would make a little more sense to me now. When I looked out of my driver's side window,

there was nothing. There was no house at all. From the car, I even shone my phone's flashlight on the land to make sure I wasn't hallucinating. Don't get me wrong. It looked like there may have been a house on that land at some point, but that point was a long time ago, certainly not that day in July. There were the remnants of what looked like a driveway, not counting the tall grass that grew out of the cracks. The sidewalk kept going from 1256 to the dead end, and there was nothing out front except an old, rusted fence with a gate that was maybe three feet high. Well, there was a part of that fence anyway. The fence only covered about four feet of the land in either direction. The gate hung poorly off of the hinges, what was left of it anyway. The grass was overgrown,

looked almost like a couple of odd concrete structures growing in a field. This made me scratch my head for a minute or two. I turned the flashlight on my phone off and looked at the app. I turned the overhead light on in the Camry while I gauge the situation. The GPS and app both told me that I was at the correct address. I breathed a long, deep sigh, and got out of the car, leaving my keys in the ignition. I turned my flashlight back on and slowly walked towards the, I don't know, the driveway, I guess. I looked around using the light and made my way further onto the parcel of land. The hair on the back of my neck stood up, which didn't help the fact that I already knew something wasn't right.

when I made my way up to the top of the driveway, long, cracked and worn, being reclaimed by the earth beneath it, I looked to my right, I was glad that I'd walked up the driveway slowly. There was a foundation to the right that resembled a basement. There were footers and columns, and a couple of old appliances that were rusted through and sat down in the pit, surrounded by a few puddles of standing water. There was a washer, a dry and a water heater. The water eater was lying down on the ground horizontally. I then noticed a furnace nearby as well.

I took a deep breath and carefully made my way back to my car. I broke into a sprint and opened the trunk. I tried the phone number on the tag again. This time, the line was not dead. It rang three times and someone picked up. I heard heavy breathing on the end of the line and alarm bells went off in my mind. I managed to stammer a week.

Hello? Hello, Richard. I heard again, it cut through my ears and down my spine. I dropped the phone on the ground and popped the trunk open with my key. I grabbed the handle on the jet flight bag and of course it again felt like

there were cinder blocks in the damn thing. I felt dizzy, and right away noticed that the foul odor had come back. But instead of it, of being localized in my car. It was all around me as I tried desperately to get the bag out of the trunk. With what strength I had left in my legs, I pulled the bag out and threw it on the asphalt behind me. The latches popped open and the contents spilled out. Like Gina had told me, all that was in there was an old nightgown and slippers. I didn't spend too long processing the contents

of the bag. I just grabbed my phone off the street and made a break for the driver's side doing. I did. I noticed that the call was still going on the phone and I shut it off. I got in the car and turned the key in the ignition. Thankfully, I was two for two against cliches and the Camry started right up. I threw it in gear and blasted way down landing way. Within a few moments I was back on the 295 heading south. I tried to avoid police and I noticed that the smell was overpowering now. Why was it so bad? I mean, I ditched the bag and everything.

I clogged my nostrils and made me dizzy again. As I gasped for air, it came from the back seat. Richer! Fury replaced fear as I pulled over to the shoulder and popped the trunk while my car idled. I stomped to the rear of the car and threw the trunk lid open. Sure enough, there it was, sitting in the space above the spare tire compartment. It was the jet flight bag, the damn jet flight bag. I have no idea how, but I was still in possession of it.

Oh well, I guess I was now one for three in horror clichés tonight. I yelled. I just looked to the New Jersey night sky and yelled as loud as I could. I yelled so loud that cars driving by slowed down and nearly rear-ended each other. I'd grab the handle on the jet flight bag, which of course felt like grabbing a boulder with a handle, and I pulled it to the mouth of the trunk. I was able to get it over and dump it on the side of the road.

Again, the locking mechanism snapped open, and the contents of the bag poured out. There were photographs now, old photographs, some in frames and some loose prints just lying on the road. Where in the hell did the nightgown and slippers go? This didn't explain the weight fluctuation of the bag at all. Why did the damn thing feel like a boulder sometimes? I looked down at the photos.

They had burn marks on them. Most of them did. Some were singed on the corners and some were burned beyond recognition. I picked up a few of the legible ones. Mostly the photos were of a family. There was a husband, a wife and two kids. I'd have to estimate that the kids were ages 10 and 12, a boy and a girl, with a boy being the older one.

The man wore a business suit with a fedora, and the wife, who kind of was a looker, or a contemporary dress at the late 50s or early 60s, if I had to guess. Based on the colour tone of the photo, I guess that the pictures were taking around that time frame as well, maybe later. A few things about the photos were off, though. There were a few words scrawled on them in green marker from another language, except it wasn't marker, come to think of it. It was wax, a candle wax.

I noticed something else in the photos too. There was a house in every photo. It was a small brick ranch house, and the family was standing in front of it. The surrounding land looked exactly like Landing Way. I took a closer look at the photo. In his left arm, he held his wife, and in his right hand it was a blue jet flight suitcase. Right there on the highway I started looking feverishly through the other photos.

One of the photos showed the man and a woman, a completely different woman, in bed being taken through the window of a completely different house. There was another photo that showed candles on the wooden floor of a dark room. Green candles. There were five of these candles to be specific, and in the middle was a fedora and the suitcase. The next photo showed the ranch house on landing. way on fire. There were figures in the windows of this photograph. All of them had their hands on the

glass. Six pairs of hands, and four of them belonged to children. I dropped the photo I was looking at when I heard my name again. It was different this time. This time the voice was deep, even guttural. I slammed the trunk shut, leaving the jet flight bag and the pictures on the street and ran to the driver's seat. I slammed my door shut, found my key, tore off the shoulder back into the traffic. I was trying to outrun the smell and this damn bag and whatever memories were attached to it. I hoped that escape was possible. The smell only became stronger as I made it to Trenton. It was then that I made the mistake of looking in the rear view mirror. I saw her eyes first. They had no detail to them. They were just these damn yellow.

Her orb sunk into black sockets. She was old. At least she looked ancient anyway. Her hair, what was left of it, was grey and stringy. She had a grin. I think it was a grin. Her teeth were a disgusting shade of brown. She was completely nude.

I don't know why I'm thinking about this now, but maybe that's why the nightgown was in the suitcase. I'm not sure what bags get inspected upon travel. down to hell. Her skin was pale white, all wrinkles but no veins. In retrospect, maybe she didn't have any blood left in her. Hell, maybe that's what she wanted from me. This time I watched her mouth open, but she didn't say my name. Frankly, I don't know what in the hell she said. Whenever she said in that moment came out backwards indeed. Yeah, her words really came out backwards. Like a tape being rewound at regular speed.

Sweat poured down my brow as I tried to stay on the road while keeping an eye on her in the rearview mirror. I had to swerve as a car hit the brakes in front of me suddenly, and this was a mistake. She had an opportunity, and she took it. All at once I found bony, cold fingers wrapped around my neck. She dug her long, dead fingernails into my jugular

and squeezed and squeezed. The smell was worse than ever now as I gasped for my last bits of oxygen. I started to see trails and my vision faded out. I had one chance. I checked out of the corner of my eyes to see if there was a car to my right. The lane was empty, so I jerked the wheel with all my might in that direction. I swung the camera over two lanes of traffic with cars honking and drivers screaming at me as the car cut. I wasn't trying to pull over though

I jammed my foot on the gas as I barreled towards the guardrail I cursed myself for not wearing a seatbelt as my body jerked forward and then from side to side upon impact glass shattered everywhere all of the console lights in the car came on at once as the radio

abruptly cut off I felt a fire run through my spine and my leg and my arm jolting me back into consciousness Warm blood creased my face, starting at my forehead and running down my cheek. But, most importantly, my neck was free from her hands. I seized the opportunity and jerked the driver's side door open. I stumbled out of the car into the ground.

I crawled past the car over to the rail itself, with my last bit of consciousness, I looked at the front of my poor Camry. The front end was crumpled in on the right side. and the headlight was completely smashed in. The windshield had shattered and glass from the windows was all over the place. It was fluid leaking from the undercarriage. I then cursed myself one last time for not having collision coverage as I slipped into blackness.

I awoke sometime later in a hospital bed in Camden. It would definitely not have been my first choice. I was in traction with casts on my left arm and leg. I used my right hand to front. from my face, which had gauze all down the right side. I let out a sigh when I realized my predicament, but then I took in a hearty breath. I'll take the smell of a hospital over the smell of death and decay any day of the week. The coming days were a mess. A New Jersey State Trooper came by and presented me with a ticket for reckless driving, despite my story. There were

enough witnesses at the scene to describe the lane-jumping magic act that I'd put on. I also got a bill for the impounding of my poor little Camry, and for damages done to the guardrail on impact. I think Heather texted me about the bag once. I simply texted back, I won't be delivering bags anymore. To which I never received a response, a visit or anything else from her, for that matter. A few friends I once had never showed up or even called me to ask how I was doing. My family hates me, and I'm not even sure if they know where I live, but... I kind of hurt that Heather didn't show up, or any of the other guys from the courier service.

It was only me, lying in traction alone in my thoughts. I was diagnosed with a broken femur, a fractured forearm, lower back trauma, and head trauma. I had to go through about six weeks of medication, and then rehab. Well, I was only able to do about four weeks of that, thanks to my liability policy that came to around $15,000. and then they cut my car off and I was booted from the hospital with nothing but a pair of crunches. My leg never healed properly and I still have a limp now. I used what money I had in the bank to take an Uber down to the airport. I picked up my last check from the bag service.

When I came, Heather luckily wasn't there. No one else would talk to me, which is fine. I didn't have anything to say to them. If they weren't there for me when I went to the hospital, what was I going to tell them now? I wouldn't be able to drive again until I got to New Jersey for my reckless driving hearing. I couldn't drive for a while anyway

because I didn't have a car anymore. I doubt I'll be driving for a long time. I've been home for two months now. I saw a 90-day notice to evict slide under my door the other day. I let my phone shut off. I put everything I could. It's my internet and electric. I'd rather watch YouTube videos all night on my laptop,

desperately trying to stay awake and talk to anyone. And who would call anyway? But at least a damn jet flight back is gone. The smell's gone. Those damned yellow orb eyes that occupy my rearview mirror are gone. She's gone. So, at least I'll figure it out again someday soon, and maybe rejoin society.

At least, I hope she's gone. Sometimes at night, I think I hear that soft, ancient voice call out my name. I tell myself, it's just the wind outside. And so once again, we reach the end of tonight's podcast. My thanks as always to the authors of those wonderful stories and to you for taking the time to listen. Now, I'd ask one small favor of you,

Wherever you get your podcast from, please write a few nice words and leave a five-star review as it really helps the podcast. That's it for this week, but I'll be back again, same time, same place, and I do so hope you'll join me once more. Until next time, sweet dreams and bye-bye.